Analysis of “Heart of Darkness”

Duncan S. Jackson

English 1105

Mr. Ellis

October 22, 2012

Analysis of “Heart of Darkness”

            What makes a story truly great, ingratiates itself upon us, gaining favor, standing the test

of time to be extolled a masterpiece, a literary contribution to be cherished throughout the ages?

My initial thought, as I read this gothic-imagery-laden offering from the mind of Joseph Conrad,

was that the author’s faculties had all but deserted him as he surely labored for what must have

been weeks on end, endeavoring ever-so-lovingly over a very personal celebration in mediocrity;

should those who, in their ignorance and arrogance, allowed such a thing to come into being,

lauding with great supplications of good thanksgiving for all to hear, be charged with any less

crime? While I am the first to admit that every story will not connect with every reader, there has

to be at least a small amount of redemption found within the pages of what one may very well

deem an otherwise excursion into futility, and I found mine.

            It would be remiss of me, before going any further, to point out that I am a true believer

in the adage that every story has a story, thus the need for background, foreshadowing, and the

like as Mr. Conrad surreptitiously builds to his anticlimactic conclusion. That being said, it

seems the author takes the opposing view of minimalism, instrumental in the writings of Carver,

Hemingway, and Barthelme, to the N^th degree by sandbagging the reader—well, this reader in

particular, at any rate—with filler and fluff which, if removed, would have allowed for an even

easier flow of text and better assimilation and understanding of that which he wished to convey.

It would not come to me until the third chapter, after all the improper usage of grammar

and punctuation, when the true heart of “Heart” would be revealed, and I realized, as I read what

would prove to be the tiniest of glimpses into the real meat and potatoes of this tale, that I was

reading the rough-draft script for the Martin Scorsese-directed mega-blockbuster motion picture

Apocalypse Now. This was indeed to be the story’s redemptive measure for me, but it came too

little, too late. Chapter three begins, […] “His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and

altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed,

how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain—why he did not

instantly disappear. I went a little farther, […] then still a little farther—till I had gone so far that

I don’t know how I’ll ever get back” (92). This quote sums up perfectly my thoughts and feelings

on the story as a whole as well as my journey into this literary heart of darkness, and my inability

to escape once that journey had begun.

Although where the story takes place has never been specifically pointed out by Conrad,

the Narrator, nor Marlowe, one can easily surmise it is the continent of Africa due to references

made to it being “one of the dark places of the earth” (6), “trireme[s] in the Mediterranean” (7),

“those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves” (9), and “a black

Sahara” (85). Then, of course, are the references to “dark interlopers” (5), “black figures” (41),

and a very liberal use of the word “nigger” (13, 29, 42, 76); not a thing uncommon for writers of

Conrad’s day (pub. Year 1902), but one must wonder if these are the thoughts and feelings of the

author, the author through his characters, or the characters as separate entities. Important to note

is how Marlow does not even refer to his (black) helmsman as a “man” until the poor fellow has

died at the hands of the natives (86). To this point he is: a “fool nigger” (76); “a dog in a parody

of breeches and a feather hat” (81); “an instrument” (85); and a “second-rate helmsman” (86).

Furthermore, the Marlowe character takes his time in making a show of any reverence for his

fallen shipmate, and then only as an afterthought as the funeral and burial consists of the dead

carcass being thrown overboard; true, this saves him from being eaten by the hired cannibal

crew, but that is the only respect any person of color is shown throughout the entirety of the

story; Marlowe gives his shoes, which were bloodied sopping wet by the helmsman’s blood,

more consideration: “out of sheer nervousness had just flung overboard a new pair of shows.”

They were new, the intended afterthought being they could have been cleaned.

There is an almost mystic ambience Conrad conjures up whenever speaking of the people

and their way of life. They are “supernatural beings” (84), who are “sorcerer[s], witch-men,

fiend-like” (111), as the African religious practice of Obeah would suggest (Morrow, Ally,

Narcisse, Javier). Due to Marlowe’s unfamiliarity with these practices, he is left to surmise that

“the far-off drums […] weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild” (31), usher forth “midnight

dances with unspeakable rites” (84), “aggravated witch dance[s]” (85) performed by the “devils

of the land” (82). The natives, “black shadows of disease” (26), were not the only people of

whom this could be said. Marlowe felt that the heart of darkness, which was anything—man,

jungle, river to name a few—that had no amount of civility about it, and he was sure that the

heart of darkness corrupted absolutely, which is why he could refer to the master brick builder as

a “papier-mâché Mephistopheles” (42), or come to believe that because of Kurtz’s indomitable

spirit and ability to gather the tribes to proclaim him master and leader that something had

protected him “like a charm” (54). These “red devils” (113) nor Kurtz’s rescuers (white devils?)

held dominion over the man, Marlowe noticed, as there was “nothing above or below him” (112)

any longer; the man had transcended the convention of religion—heaven and hell—to become a

god in his own right.

Separate but equal is the way in which Conrad defines the land itself; it carries an air of

mysticism about it, but more as an as-yet undiscovered country. He speaks of Africa as “still

belong[ing] to the beginnings of time” (68), a “prehistoric earth” (59). In it, one finds “truth

stripped of its cloak of time” (60). It is here, perhaps, that the heart of darkness envelops most

completely, as the place is “primeval” (43) and one finds “no joy [even] in the brilliance of the

sunshine” (55), a true “night of first ages” (60) where every living thing contained within spews

its birth cry as both invitation, and warning.

Several references are made to the intrepid Europeans who—for that of adventure’s sake

or profit’s—have braved this vast, indiscriminate wilderness. We, through Conrad, the Narrator,

and Marlowe, view them as a transmogrification of colonists, “adventurers and sailors” (5),

conquerors” (9), and finally “faithless pilgrims” (37) who seem no longer capable of even

understanding the need to leave the place of their greatest sorrows; the heart of darkness, which

consumes as it is consumed, is one great thing and many great things simultaneously; it has

consumed them, making them one with itself.

The gothic imagery employed by Mr. Conrad is on a par with that of Poe and Hawthorne,

and perhaps a bit more cerebral besides. We are introduced to this early on with references to

“black hens” (12) and women “knitting black wool” (14) in an office located on a “street in deep

shadow” (14) that Marlowe would visit prior to setting off for “The Continent” (12), yet the

office itself, in contrast to this, sported a “large shining map, with all the colours of the rainbow”

(14) as if to nullify what truly awaited the seafaring adventurer upon arrival at his destination.

Marlowe speaks of the eyes of a dead native “shining darkly” (100), and speaks of a painting that

has caught his attention in which “the background was somber […] and the face (of the unknown

woman) sinister” (40).

I reread this story after setting myself to the task of writing this analysis, and while I hold

true to everything I have written, I must clarify a few things as I build toward my end. Though an

arduous task still, I did gain better understanding—and enjoyment—from this piece the second

time around. It definitely deserves the praise it has received, which merits its place as one of the

fine literary contributions of all time. No longer do I feel the opening of Chapter Three to be a

worthy assessment of my experience with this book; on the contrary. I invite you to page seven

to read the script, “it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We

live in the flicker—may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling!”

Works Cited

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. Bantam Classic Books. Doubleday and Co., Inc. 1981.

Morrow, Ally, Narcisse, and Javier. Obeah, Voodoo, and Wicca. Central University of New

York. Web.  2012. http://condor.admin.ccny.cuny.edu/~lm5786/index.html